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skirts and necks so low they’d be more suitable for a... well, not for a girl of twelve. She resolved to approach one of the assistants. ‘Excuse me, I’m looking for a dress for a twelve year old. It must have sleeves and a skirt that’s not too short. But I can’t see anything.’ ‘You won’t find it here. Best go to Debenhams, love.’ The girl smirked and the others turned away to hide their smiles. It was better in the department store. Shelley found two dresses she liked, one of rich red velvet, its sleeves gathered into a cuff and trimmed with lace. The other was black, with a straight skirt. She stood, holding the black dress away from her to see it better. Then she recalled seeing the girls at the Bar Mitzvah last night, wearing tight black dresses, even make up. But this was too sophisticated for Claire, she thought, and she put it back. But the velvet dress, an Alice in Wonderland dress, that was for Claire. Thrilled to have bought something so quickly, she stepped back into Market Street, then stood still. A man bumped into her. ‘Look where you’re going, silly cow.’ ‘I’m sorry. . .’ she began, but he’d carried on to Piccadilly. She didn’t feel so happy after that. She almost shouted something after him, but thought better of it. She had stopped because another thought had darted into her mind. Hats. Or a hat. Did twelve-year old girls cover their hair these days? Her back to the window, she tried to recall the Bat Mizvahs they’d attended in the past. She so much wanted to do the right thing for Claire. Then, a reassuring thought, Claire had the same fair hair and blue eyes as herself, which meant that the problem was solved. She would buy a hat. If it wasn’t appropriate, she herself could wear it, and nothing would be lost. She pushed through the doors of British Home Stores to be greeted by a wave of hot air. Only after she’d tried on ten, maybe twelve hats, did she become aware of her face. Chalk white. And now she felt faint. She was about to give up when she found an array of berets on a corner shelf; and it was there, the very match of the Alice in Wonderland dress. She returned home, elated, hung the dress in Claire’s wardrobe and stowed the beret, still in its bag, on the shelf above. By the time Charles came in, the potato topping of the shepherd’s pie, their usual Monday supper, was completely dried out. ‘A sandwich will be fine,’ he said. ‘My fault for coming home at this ridiculous hour.’ Shelley smiled; allowing him to take the blame, knowing it was really her
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I Never Wear Black 3 |
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All work within this periodical is copyrighted by the authors and Big Pond Rumour, January 2008. No part is to be copied or reproduced without the written consent of the authors and Big Pond Rumour Press. |